All Alone
by IrishgirlE
Summary: Before becoming one of the Knights of Camelot, before meeting Merlin and Arthur, it was just Gwaine. All alone. But he was fine. Absolutely fine.


The bed was cold when he woke up, but Gwaine wasn't surprised. If anything, he was fairly relieved. He didn't relish the thought of being woken by an angry husband or whoever else took issue with him sleeping with a particular woman. Gwaine considered himself a romantic at heart, but a pretty lady was a pretty lady. If a woman wanted his attention for the night, then how could he possibly refuse her that?

But a night of pleasure, and the opportunity to sleep in a warm bed for the night, didn't always make up for the usual need for a quick getaway as her father, or brother, or husband, or mother caught him and chased him out the door - or the window, or the roof, or even out of a cave, once. He had paid more than a few tavern tabs by exchanging his debt for one of his more daring bedroom escape stories. Not that he was ever believed.

Thankfully, this morning was one of the rare occasions when his lady friend had taken it upon herself to leave before dawn, before he would need to be chased from her bed. His ribs throbbed in gratitude.

He had come to this town in search of some quick work, some easy labour, and hadn't found it. What he had found though were aging townspeople eager for some excitement. It hadn't taken him long to convince them to fight against him and bet on the results. Once the drinks got flowing, everyone was a King's knight, more than capable to take on some wandering drunk. Or, that's what Gwaine let them assume.

The art of this game was to let them think that they could win and that meant getting hit more than once. As the night wore on, some of the younger men, the ones who had first considered themselves too sensible to fight, got involved. By then, Gwaine was starting to flag and they were well rested and too drunk to feel much of any half-hearted punches. Hot blooded and spurred on by the roaring crowd, the baker's boy had snapped a couple of Gwaine's ribs.

He had been too drunk to feel much pain, too used to it. But he recognised the sound, the feeling. The boy had frozen for a second, alcohol addled brain trying to figure out the sound, wondering why that hit had landed different. Gwaine hadn't given him another second before he dropped him with a final jaw punch. He had played his part in the end, pretending to be all fine, laughing and joking, promising the boy a rematch the next time he was in town.

When the innkeeper's wife had pressed against his side and offered him a room in exchange for a demonstration of his _other _skills, Gwaine had plastered a fake smile on his face and pushed away the pain.

Ragnell was a homely looking woman, older than Gwaine by more than a few years. But it was plain to see that loneliness had aged her far more than time could. This town was far away from any others, Gwaine wouldn't have come if he hadn't thought that it might be worth it. She probably hadn't had many other suitors other than her husband, who was too busy, too drunk, too bored, to entertain her, to love her in the way that she wanted.

Gwaine could understand loneliness. He didn't like getting between a husband and wife - figuratively, of course, literally was another matter - but he could empathise with just wanting someone to love you, just for one night. And he would very much like a room where he could lick his wounds in peace. Especially if someone else was willing to lick them for him.

Injured as he was, he couldn't give her the type of night that he prided himself on providing. But he was nothing if not a gentleman, and he ensured that even if he could do better, Ragnell still had an excellent time. She had fallen asleep, sweaty and still gasping, against his chest.

Gwaine had watched her, draped over his chest like a lover. That was what she was, but only for one night. He had performed many different jobs over the years, many tasks, and he had seen plenty of occasions to watch a man and woman share a bed over the years. There was something somehow more intimate between a married couple than between two passionate lovers. He brushed a hand through Ragnell's hair, hesitating when she grunted at the touch, and tried to pretend that this wasn't just a mockery of that. He tried to pretend that this wasn't just for one night.

The rest had served him well, and the small platter of bread and stew that was left outside of his room by a tiny boy with Ragnell's eyes and her smile was one of the best meals that he had eaten in months. He was fit enough to move around, to leave, and not be trapped in this town for even one more night.

Gwaine tugged on his shirt and his trousers one handed, the other hand supporting his ribs. He tried not to think about how much easier it would be to get dressed with another set of hands to help him. The hands of a woman who loved him, or the hands of a man who lived alongside him.

Gwaine was a social man, the life of a wanderer suited him. He could come and go whenever he pleased, making new friends - and enemies - wherever he went, finding new lovers whenever he tried, and finding new adventures whenever the mood struck him, but he couldn't deny that the temporary nature of it all wore on him every so often. He couldn't deny that not having anything but a horse to hold at the end of the night - and Gringolet wasn't much of a cuddler on a good day - did get lonely. There was no one there with him from one day to the next. No one who would risk anything for him, and no one that he would risk anything for either. Not anymore. It got lonely.

Gwaine finished getting dressed and took up his meagre belongings from where they had been tossed about the room the night before. And then he went about his way. There wasn't much else in town for him, and he figured that he might as well leave before he managed to overstay his welcome.

He saw her again when he was leading his horse out of the stable. Ragnell was holding the little boy who had her smile and her eyes, and she was leading about a little girl who had her hair. A working woman with a stern look for her rowdy guests, and still a caring mother who minded her children as she worked. For a moment, Gwaine imagined loving her. He imagined the little boy calling him 'father' and grinning up at him. He imagined the little girl asking him to braid her hair for her, and him doing a terrible job, but her being proud of it nonetheless. He imagined Ragnell lying next to him in _their_ bed, discussing _their_ day, telling about what _they _were going to do tomorrow, sharing _their _life together.

He imagined the life that he barely remembered having, with his father, his mother, his sister, his brother - before it was taken from him forever by fate and misfortune and cruelty.

Gwaine blinked away the image, chiding himself for getting lost in a stupid fantasy. He didn't love her, he didn't love any of them. They were just strangers. He would forget them all in a week.

Ragnell turned and paused, releasing her daughter's hand long enough to rub her fingers over a mark on the window. Her son bounced on her hip. He spotted Gwaine and recognised him. He grinned and Gwaine waved, the boy waved back. The little girl followed her brother's gaze and smiled, used to strangers and offering a polite smile. Ragnell noticed that her children's attention had wandered, then she spotted him.

Gwaine smiled in greeting and she looked away, expressionless. She snatched back up her daughter's hand and strode into the inn. Without a second glance, without anything that acknowledged the night before, without even giving him a proper look.

Gwaine swallowed, oddly hurt by the blatant rejection. He was leaving anyway, what harm would a nod, a smile, have done? He shook himself for being so stupid. He didn't care about her, or any of them. He was just moody. He was just hurt and he wanted someone else to make him feel better. Only he was hurting in a way that no amount of sex or alcohol or fighting could solve. He just wanted _someone_.

He didn't love her, and she sure as hell didn't love him. There was no life for them together. There was no friendship that he could form. He wasn't a father, he wasn't a husband. He wasn't even a son or a brother anymore. He was on his own.

He was a social man, he could make his own way. If he wanted a friend he could make one, so what if it never lasted longer than a night in the tavern. That was all fine. That was all he wanted any way. He didn't want a family, or a someone to love him. He was fine all on his own. By himself. Alone.

He didn't need anyone. He was fine.


End file.
